


Step In

by lary



Series: Control [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Episode Related, First Time, M/M, POV Character of Color, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foreman knows what he wants. That is, who he wants.</p>
<p>Set into S1 episode 10 Histories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step In

**Author's Note:**

> Do not own them.

 

 

Foreman had joined Chase and Cameron for drinks at the bar near the hospital. It was becoming a routine, meeting up after they had discharged a patient and were able to unwind without the prospect of having to spend the night at the hospital to run tests or on House's whim.

 

He found himself surprised at how much he was enjoying himself with the other fellows. They were far from people Foreman would normally choose to associate with. Chase and Cameron were both the white, middle-class type he'd had enough of during med school. But the demands of the job were causing collateral damage to his social life, and once you got them on their free time, both had a surprising amount of personality under the polished exterior.

 

Chase grinned, ordering another round. All three of them were feeling victorious about the case of John Henry Giles, who had been able to leave the hospital after a successful surgery.

 

“Here's to another case solved,” Foreman said, drinking from his glass.

 

“House called it,” Cameron said. “He didn't give up.”

 

“He didn't,” Foreman admitted.

 

“I gather you're not taking the job with Hamilton, then?” Chase asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No, I don't think I will,” Foreman said. He'd already called Marty to let him know. That hadn't been the most pleasant conversation, but Foreman was satisfied with his decision to stay at PPTH.

 

Cameron rose to leave for the bathroom, and as soon as she was out of earshot Chase turned to him with a knowing smile.

 

“So. You gonna jump him?”

 

“Seriously, man, if only you could spend half the brain power on cases that you do on House and me,” Foreman said, once again taken by surprise by the blond's perceptiveness.

 

“Hmm, touchy. Must've hit a nerve,” Chase commented airily, and Foreman scowled at him.

 

“Fine, I'm considering it.”

 

“Weren't you the one telling me that doing a co-worker would be a bad idea?” Chase asked, glancing at the ladies room meaningfully.

 

“Yeah, well. Can't make things much worse when House is already a complete pain in the ass,” Foreman shrugged.

 

In reality, he had spent some time mulling over the question. Foreman had no interest in complicating his career, and he was well aware of the professional risks of being outed. New Jersey had just passed legislation prohibiting discrimination based on sexual orientation, but there were still multiple subtle ways in which it could have an effect. Also, he would likely be moving on at some point, and so far only a handful of states offered the same protection.

 

Then again, Foreman was certain that House was no more willing to advertise his personal life at the hospital that Foreman was, and they both knew how to keep things professional at work.

 

“You must be a complete masochist to be turned on by House's torture,” Chase chuckled.

 

“Rather, I'm interested in finding out what other talents he might have,” Foreman said with a smirk.

 

“You mean if he's a genius in bed, too.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Chase grinned, taking a sip from his beer. “You should just let him know there are better ways he could be riding your ass.”

 

“Yeah, except that I plan to be the one riding him for a change.”

 

“Mm-hm, right. Good luck with that,” Chase commented.

 

“Good luck with what?” Cameron asked, sliding back to sit next to Chase.

 

“Getting House off my back,” Foreman said quickly, ignoring Chase's amused expression. He was relieved that the intensivist was keeping his observations to himself.

 

Cameron resumed her usual defensive position regarding House's behaviour, and Foreman emptied his beer. He ordered another one, participating in the discussion with half his attention. The other half might have been occupied with with images of House lying under him, naked and flustered.

 

 

**

 

Foreman knocked on the door before he had too much time to think.

 

“Aww, miss me already?” House smirked when he opened the door.

 

“Yeah,” Foreman said, stepping in and closing the door behind them. He didn't wait for House's reaction, pushing him against the wall and kissing him. His hands were on House's sides, seeking contact, holding on steady, keeping the other man upright. He let the kiss be soft, even while he pressed his body hard against House's.

 

The older doctor yielded, opening his mouth for him, pushing back with his tongue, his hands grasping on Foreman's shirt. Foreman could tell the physical reaction from the way House was pushing against him, moving his hips instinctively to gain more friction.

 

Foreman's mind was foggy with lust and his mouth moved as if on its own accord, settling on House's carotid artery, licking the salty taste, sucking, his teeth biting on the skin.

 

Normally, Foreman never relinquished his caution and common sense, but both had left his brain as soon as his mouth had first pressed against House's, or perhaps even earlier. It was only now that House let out a sharp breath that his senses finally came crashing back to him.

 

He saw the reddening on House's neck and realised with horror that the older doctor would have a hickey where Foreman had bitten down on his neck. _Classy_ , he thought. _How the fuck does this guy manage to reduce me into a damn teenager?_

 

House must have failed to notice about the mark yet, otherwise he'd no doubt be either mocking Foreman or biting his head off. He pulled back, reluctantly, and House let out something resembling a whimper.

 

“What's up with the continuous sexual harassment, _Eric_?” House asked, in a rough voice.

 

“Couldn't kiss you in your office, _Greg_.”

 

House shivered, and that one was definitely not from pleasure. Foreman smirked.

 

It was with physical effort that he stepped back. His whole body ached for more. But more could be pushing it, and right now he wasn't sure he'd know where the boundaries were until he was stepping over one. He wasn't sure House knew, either.

 

He looked into House's eyes, and all he could see was shimmering lust that made him want to ditch the caution and fuck him like there was no tomorrow. It was like standing on an edge, current swirling around them, desire and want and battling for dominance, threatening to take hold of them both and swallow them. And it was within his reach, tempting him. Foreman felt a surge of arousal that tried to submerge him, but there was a part of his brain that held onto a shred of rationality, an instinct telling him that he couldn't let it take over, not with House, even though he didn't know which of them that instinct was protecting.

 

Foreman took another step back, and then one more, until he was at the door.

 

“I want you to come to me next time,” Foreman said in a low voice. He had to gather all his willpower to step out the door and leave House standing against the wall.

 

“See you tomorrow, House.”

 

**

 

Leaving House's place the previous evening had seemed like a stupid idea all through the drive home and right until Foreman had jerked off in the shower. Only after he'd come and caught his breath for a while, Foreman had felt something resembling normal brain function returning again, reminding him just what was at stake.

 

Suddenly, leaving House's place had begun to seem like a much better idea. Foreman had seen the way in which House avoided any kind of closeness, and he was wary of pressuring the man into anything. He knew it was best to wait until House sought him out. He was a little uncomfortable with how much he found himself hoping that would happen soon.

 

Foreman pulled over to the hospital parking lot and headed straight to the clinic. He owed Cuddy four hours from last week when he'd been too busy with John Henry, and he wanted to finish them before House found a new patient.

 

He had time to see two patients before he was interrupted by a page, and he was somewhat surprised to note that it was from Dr. Wilson. The oncologist didn't usually require help from the department of diagnostics, rather the diagnostics team was the one to page Wilson when they suspected cancer or when House wanted to harass his friend.

 

Foreman told the clinic nurse that he'd be twenty minutes and made his way to the other floor, where Wilson was waiting for him. The oncologist brought Foreman up to speed on a homeless Jane Doe with a twitch on her wrist.

 

Foreman ran a series of routine test on the weary-looking woman, none of which indicated an underlying condition. He was just about finished when the patient started seizing. It took ten minutes to get her stable enough to leave.

 

Foreman argued that the low blood sugar was probably caused by a self-administration of insulin. She was homeless, so not wanting to leave the hospital was no surprising thing. Wilson seemed unconvinced, intent that there was something wrong with her. Foreman was a little surprised by his attitude. It couldn't have been the first time the doctor was faced with somebody pulling a scam to get medical attention.

 

“Why fake a twitch?” Wilson argued. “In case the seizure was too subtle? A twitch could indicate a tumour, which could indicate--”

 

Foreman interrupted him. “A need to see a neurologist, which is why you called me. Keep an eye on her until 2:00 PM, watch her blood sugar, give her a nice hot lunch, and discharge her.”

 

He saw he wasn't getting through to Wilson, but it wasn't his problem if the man wanted to waste his own time with the patient. Foreman left him in the hallway and headed back downstairs.

 

**

 

This time he'd been at the clinic for barely twenty minutes when House paged him. _Perfect_. Apparently they had a new patient already. Whenever they did have a case, it tended to keep him so busy that there wasn't much time to take care of anything else. He headed towards House's office, resigning himself to having to work extra the following week.

 

As soon as Foreman walked into the conference room, House's eyes were on him, interested. Foreman took in the light blue turtle-neck shirt, which confirmed that apparently he had left a mark. He felt relieved that House had chosen to hide it, but also a twinge of arousal at the reminder of last night.

 

“Glad you could join us, _Eric_ ,” House said. “What's the differential for a twitch on the wrist?”

 

Foreman was surprised that it was Wilson's patient that he'd been paged for. “The patient is a thirty-ish Jane Doe. I though I just discharged her,” he said, glancing at the oncologist.

 

“Well, she's my patient,” Wilson said defensively. “No harm in a second opinion.”

 

_So that's why he wanted me in the first place_ , Foreman realised. He was only one of many doctors in the hospital with a specialisation in neurology, but the only one working for House.

 

The other doctors launched into a ddx. Wilson's motivations clearly came from caring way too much. Foreman was more annoyed with House going along with it.

 

“Okay. Why are we on this case? Just because Wilson asked?” Foreman demanded. It was definitely not House's style to do anything to please somebody else.

 

House refused to answer, instead emptying the patient's bag on the conference room table. Unsurprisingly, there was a syringe of insulin, which explained the patient's seizure. House ignored it, and continued on with the differential.

 

“Hang a banana bag, give her 24 hours to correct the electrolyte imbalance, we’ll take it from there,” House ordered.

 

Wilson thanked House and cleared to treat the patient, along with Chase and Cameron. House looked at Foreman with an expression betraying just a hint of a smile, before he turned to walk to the sink.

 

“Even if she's not faking, what's so fascinating about this case?” Foreman asked.

 

“At the moment, how much you don't want me to take it – that's pretty fascinating.” House looked at him intently and then turned around, hiding his amusement by taking a sip of coffee.

 

That's when Foreman finally realised it. House was trying to make him jealous. He smiled to himself, his annoyance blending with amusement. Foreman had to admit that maybe a tiny portion of his irritation was coming from somewhere besides having his time wasted.

 

He rose from the table to leave, glancing at House from the door. “You know, there are easier ways to get my attention,” Foreman noted with a small smile, before leaving to treat the Jane Doe.

 

 

**

 

 

_How good it is to have House's interest_ , Foreman thought sarcastically, as he got back to the conference room. _So far I've only been bitten by a crazy woman and lost my jacket to a homeless guy._

  
“Not wearing a coat in this weather,” House said, walking in as if on a cue. “That is so wrong.”

 

Foreman had found drawings done by the patient from where she was sleeping and he spread them on the table, ignoring the goading.

 

House held up one of the drawings. “Philadelphia. Look at that skyline! It’s very evocative. The Chrysler Building,” he said, sitting at the table. The picture showed a desert landscape, which Foreman and Cameron tried to point out.

 

“Mmm… I’m getting Philly,” House argued. “And that cactus, well, that’s a smashed car – car accident. Water – well, water’s October, right?”

 

Wilson seemed to be in on whatever the joke was, because he confirmed that this was obviously the case. Foreman tried not to feel irked, not entirely successfully.

  
  
House went on. “On the page number 22, so that’s October 2nd, 2002. Ergo, the patient was in a car accident two years ago last October.”

  
  
“My goodness! Was she okay?” Wilson asked.

  
  
“Broke her arm, I think. They fixed it – with this.” House produced a metal pin and held it up. “Surgical pin. Better than a wallet. Serial numbers in case of recall, tied to a patient’s name.”

  
  
“That’s why you insisted on the MRI. So you could remove the surgical pin from her arm,” Foreman stated, unable to stop the annoyance from entering his voice. There had been no point to him going through a dumpster to find her things if House had already known they'd find out her identity from the pin.

 

“You didn’t think I was going to do it to save your sorry ass, did you?” House said smugly. “You might want to take a look at that,” he ordered when the fax machine made a sound. “Her name is Victoria Matson, at least that’s the one she used then. Any hospital with the record of treating her should be sending that information.”

 

Foreman went over the faxed paper, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline when he noticed that Victoria was allergic to the iron dextran they had given her earlier. He didn't waste a moment, rushing to the patient room, where his focus snapped to stabilising her again.

 

 

**

 

 

Wilson was silent when Foreman drove back towards the hospital. They were returning from a wasted trip to Victoria's former home. They had only succeeded in uncovering the fact that her husband and son had both died in a car accident.

 

Foreman felt a twinge of guilt, when he thought about the fact that Victoria was dying, alone in a hospital bed. There had been no way for him to know that earlier, when he had insisted on nothing being wrong with her. It had been due to House's willingness to indulge Wilson that they had found out that Victoria had rabies.

 

Rationally he knew he had done nothing wrong, that any neurologist would've agreed with his opinion. Doctors didn't treat because of hunches, they treated according to medical evidence, and there had been none.

 

The oncologist wasn't saying anything, but the silence grated on Foreman's nerves nevertheless, and he finally broke it when he turned to the hospital parking lot.

 

“Hey, I'm sorry I didn't take the case seriously,” he said as he parked the car and stopped the engine.

 

Wilson didn't look at him, but he didn't rise to get up, either. Foreman glanced at the hospital, conscious of the fact that Victoria probably only had less than an hour to live.

 

“My brother...” Wilson said, hesitantly. “He's schizophrenic. Last I saw him was nine years ago.”

 

Foreman felt cold creeping inside him. He knew what Wilson was telling him. If his brother had been living on the streets for all that time, there was a good chance he was dead.

 

“I'm sorry,” he offered, uselessly.

 

“Yeah,” Wilson said, sighing. He got out the car, and Foreman followed suit, locking the doors after him, and joining Wilson onto a quiet walk towards the hospital.

 

 

**

 

 

Foreman was only mildly tipsy when he opened his apartment door later that evening. He'd gone out for drinks with Chase and Cameron again, but it had been a subdued event, all of them feeling down about Victoria's death. As a doctor, patients passing away was something you had to deal with and move on from, but that didn't mean it never got to you.

 

Foreman threw his keys on the small table. He almost jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke from the living room.

 

“Fancy seeing you here.”

 

Foreman recovered quickly. There was probably something highly problematic about the fact that he wasn't even slightly surprised to see that his boss had broken into his apartment. There was also probably something problematic about the fact that instead of being indignant about the breach of privacy, he was simply feeling amused. Plus, immediately aroused.

 

“Hardly surprising, considering I live here,” Foreman commented. House replied by taking a sip from a beer he'd helped himself to.

 

Foreman didn't feel like more alcohol so he got water instead, leaning against the door frame, relaxed. “Then again, you're here as well,” he added, letting a knowing smile spread on his face. He was satisfied with the confirmation that House was interested enough to go out his way to get Foreman's attention.

 

“Stunning observation,” House said sarcastically. Foreman could see a slight discomfort in his posture, but he was looking at Foreman in an almost hungry way that made him feel hot all over. He set the glass on the table, and House's azure gaze followed him as he walked to sit on the couch. He felt his heartbeat fasten as he kissed House, who answered immediately.

 

It started out eager and fast as it had been the other morning at House's place. Foreman felt arousal surging in his veins, hot and fast, and he was already fully hard, his cock straining against his pants.

 

And then House changed the tack, slowing down until his tongue was leading Foreman's in a languid dance of soft brushes that made heat gather in his gut, desire stirring in him hotly. He felt the bristle rough his skin, but House's mouth was warm and wet. There was no way that Foreman would have expected it to be like this with House, so slow and sensual and fucking electrifying, anticipation sending his nerves buzzing along his skin.

 

Foreman made an uncontrolled noise in the back of his throat, and it seemed like something snapped and House's mouth was claiming his fervently, hands grasping Foreman like he couldn't get enough. And Foreman felt like he actually _couldn't_ get enough, with House's body pressing against him in that needy way.

 

House didn't offer help when Foreman stripped him of the shirt. He ran his tongue along House's chin and neck, where he could see the mark.

 

“You're so not giving me another hickey,” House warned him in a gravelly voice.

 

“Shut up,” Foreman growled, but kept the suction light. He ran his hand along House's chest, another one behind his neck, pulling him closer. He bit on House's earlobe none too gently, and House's groan made his cock throb urgently.

 

“I want to fuck you into the mattress, right now,” Foreman murmured. House's breath hitched, and his pupils widened slightly. Foreman smiled, a pleasant anticipation building in his chest. “Bedroom,” he said, rising up and walking down the hallway without waiting for House.

 

The older doctor followed him, moving somewhat more stiffly in the middle of the night than he did at the hospital. Foreman thought absently that House had probably taken less Vicodin than he was on during the day to function at work, perhaps to reduce the chances of the drug to effect his ability to have sex. He was briefly amused by the possibility that them fucking might be beneficial to House's health.

 

His brain filed away the thought, concentrating fully on what he was doing. He joined House in ridding him of the jeans and then watched him lie down onto the bed as Foreman took off his own clothes. House's eyes followed Foreman hungrily as he stripped, and Foreman was equally interested in looking at House, sprawled on his bed.

 

Foreman felt a surge of lust, blood running hot in his veins. He wanted to struggle with House and to come out on top, wanted to hold the man against him, needy, helpless, eager.

 

Everything House did was about control, one way or another. The obsessive need to know everything – about Wilson, about his patients, about people working for him. The breaking of norms and ignoring of rules, the need to fool the system, the defiance to authority he took to a level that forced Cuddy to use games to goad him into doing his job.

 

Even the pills. House didn't have a handle on his addiction, but they were still about controlling his pain, about beating his damaged body into submission, forcing the leg to function like a healthy limb that it wasn't. House wouldn't let the pain distract him from the puzzles or let the injury hinder him in pressuring the patients into treatments. And he made a good job out of never showing emotion, weakness, humanity.

 

And there was something in that, something that made Foreman want to reach in, to push, desirous and determined to expose and see, set on tearing down the defences. Curious. Interested. And it stirred something more profound in him, a lust for power, a will to control, to dominate House.

 

“I want you to touch yourself,” Foreman told him.

 

House's eyes went impossibly dark. Foreman could almost see the struggle in his head. House was evidently aroused by Foreman taking the charge, and at the same time fighting it. This wasn't going to be easy. Then again, if easy were what he was looking for, he wouldn't have gone for House in the first place.

 

“Any day now,” Foreman urged in a low voice. He could see that House was wanting it, needing it, and finally he shuddered, closing his eyes as he took hold of his dick, moving his hand in slow motions.

 

Foreman moved unhurried to the nightstand, getting what he wanted.

 

“Look at me,” Foreman said. House's eyes flickered open and fixated on him, vibrant dark wanting, alive.

 

“I want you to lie on your stomach and prepare yourself so that I can fuck you,” Foreman told him, throwing the lube on the bed.

 

He saw House swallow, staring at the container, like he was fighting a battle already lost. Foreman could see the moment of decision when House released his dick and reached for the lube, opening it and applying it heavily on his fingers before he rolled over.

 

“ _Ahh_.” Foreman echoed House's gasp when he saw him spread his legs and reach behind himself to slide two fingers into the tightness. Foreman grabbed his own cock, not daring to give himself more than a few firm strokes as he watched House fuck himself slowly with his fingers, eyes shut, breathing heavy. The sight was hot in itself, but he was aroused beyond belief by the effort he knew it was taking for House to be doing it, complying with what Foreman asked of him.

 

He moved onto the bed, kneeling behind House and rolling on a condom. House shivered, his eyes still closed, but he didn't interrupt what he was doing.

 

“You ready?” Foreman asked. His voice sounded implausibly low to his own ears.

 

“Yes,” House breathed out, removing his fingers. Foreman wasted no time, pushing into him in a steady thrust, shutting his eyes from the sensory overload that was resulting from the sight before him and tightness surrounding his cock.

 

“ _God_ ,” House moaned, and Foreman felt a heady surge of power, like House was talking to him, and maybe he and House were more alike than he'd ever realised before, but if _this_ was the result then he wasn't going to complain.

 

“Yes, say it,” Foreman urged, letting his fingers dig into House's flesh, staying still even as his dick was throbbing, willing him to move.

 

“God, Foreman, fuck me,” House gasped, and Foreman answered by thrusting into him, hard and fast, repeating the motion over and over, holding on hard as he fucked him. House jerked his hips grinding into the material under him, and was panting hard.

 

House let out a shout that muffled against the mattress. His ass muscles contracted around Foreman's cock, tightening as he came. Foreman felt his own cock pulsing urgently, so fucking close to the edge. He grit his teeth and focused on holding steady until he felt House's body relax, allowing him to push in again. It didn't take many thrusts for Foreman to feel his orgasm approaching, and he rammed into House's body as the wave hit him, his cock erupting in hot pleasure.

 

He breathed slowly for a moment, until House elbowed him.

 

“Get off the cripple.”

 

Foreman pushed himself up and off the bed. “I thought I just did,” he replied with a smirk. He threw out the condom and reached for House's jeans.

 

“Oh, aren't you clever,” House commented. His eyes narrowed as he watched his actions, but Foreman only dug the Vicodin bottle out the pocket and threw it to him before dropping back onto the mattress.

 

“You're staying here tonight, unless you want to get your clothes yourself,” Foreman stated.

 

“Must be desperate to resort to blackmailing a cripple,” House mocked, but he wasn't entirely successful in concealing the warmth in his voice.

 

“Apparently so,” Foreman conceded easily. He prevented any further commentary by kissing House, who answered willingly, his tongue brushing slow and soft against Foreman's.

 

“Fine,” House said after they pulled apart.

 

Foreman smiled, satisfied, when he drifted to sleep.

 

 


End file.
